


Chastity or Something Like It

by Toastybluetwo



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastybluetwo/pseuds/Toastybluetwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Sebastian performs penance. UST, BDSM, scourging, femdom, foot fetish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chastity or Something Like It

Elthina held a scourge in her gloved hand.

A scourge.

 _A History of the Chantry, Part Twelve_ claimed that use of the scourge as a form of penance had been outlawed by the White Divine over two hundred years ago. It was deemed a punishment resting on shaky ground. Blood could only be drawn in the Maker’s name if the one losing the blood didn’t want to lose said blood.

Too many of Andrastre’s followers had once craved the feeling of the leather whip upon their backs. Such a thing was deemed profane.

Sebastian knelt before a life size statue of Andraste Herself, his head bowed, his white, straight teeth worrying his lower lip. Elthina had ordered him to remove his armor, his jerkin, and the soft linen shirt beneath. Now he was stripped to the waist, his hands behind his back.

“Have you something to confess, Sebastian?” Elthina’s voice did not sound like her own. There was something very hard in the grandmotherly tones. Angry, perhaps? Sebastian could not decide.

Yet, he knew that he would disappoint her with the words that would soon tumble from his lush lips. Elthina had warned him that he would become distracted in his travels with Hawke. She had warned him that he would be tempted by a myriad of sins. After all, Hawke frequently had to go into the Pearl to investigate this thing or the other thing.

There were so many women at the Pearl.

Women and men.

Wearing almost nothing.

Gooseflesh began to rise upon his lean, taut arms as redness crept into his cheeks. Heat spread also over his thighs, caressing him with gentle fingers that sought to wrap themselves around his growing prick.

“I…have looked wantonly upon a woman.” No, there wasn’t just one woman. Hawke wasn’t the only one. He had craved the women at the Pearl and the men at the Pearl. He had craved the noblewomen in Hightown with their perfumes and Orlesian blouses, and the men in their velvet tunics and high-heeled shoes.

His prick pulsed of its own accord, desiring to slide between their thighs, all of them, to make sweat rise and heat rise. Merciful Maker, was it hot in here, in Elthina’s study with its giant statue of Andraste wearing little but a toga and a secretive, serene smile?

No. This was one boundary that could not be crossed. He could carry the shame of wanton thoughts of sinking his prick into all of them, even Fenris, even Anders, for Maker’s sake, but he would not imagine himself kneeling before the Bride of the Maker, putting his face between her shapely, marble thighs –

Then again, he was already on his knees.

“Hawke, you mean.” The scourge touched him, not with pain behind it, but a caress, like a lover’s fingertips. “You have sinned with your eyes only? You haven’t lain down with her?”

“No.” Sebastian longed to look at Elthina, but it would have meant turning his head. That, and he would have had to look away from Andraste and her shapely thighs, the hips that curved like a ripe, sweet apple, the navel that sunk into the flesh, leaving an almost imperceptible line downward. A road paved in gold that led to…

He would spend an eternity wandering the Void for looking at the Maker’s bride this way, and the very thought caused the tears to flow freely from his eyes. “My thoughts are so sinful that I must certainly be under the spell of a demon. I am a man of the worst kind.”

“No…” Now, her fingertips traced the tattoo on his upper left arm, the leather caressing every line that formed the rampant dragon. Such a thing itself was laden in sin; Sebastian had the tattoo commissioned in honor of a challenge he had once set upon himself, to hunt, to woo, and to bed a Pentaghast. And how horribly he had broken her heart no sooner than he had left her bedchamber, while she was still naked, her body still covered in his body’s fluids. “You are not a bad man, but your deeds are of the worst sort, as are your thoughts. These things must be purged with pain, for we are all unworthy of our sin to be burned away with the flame.”

“Purge me.” He braced himself for the pain, for how horrible it was certain to be to even begin to match the deepest of sin within his thoughts. Within his trousers, his prick pressed uncomfortably against the laces, begging for its own release.

“Ten lashes for sinful thoughts.” Elthina’s voice fell, suddenly no louder than a whisper. “Beg Blessed Andraste for forgiveness. Think on her sufferings. You are unworthy for these things.”

Sebastian did not have time to respond. The first lash fell hard, licking the tattoo, marring the dragon’s mighty torso with an angry red welt. A sob escaped his parted lips.

“Beg.” One single word, one single syllable, followed by a lash inflicted with such force that Sebastian’s eyes overflowed with tears again.

Falling onto his hands and knees, the tears dropping from his high cheekbones directly onto the stone floor beneath him, Sebastian began to babble whatever words came to his head. “Blessed Andraste, she who kneels at the feet of the Maker in eternal meditation, she who prays for the souls of the just and the unjust –“ Another lash caused him to cry out loud, interrupting his prayer with burning, tearing pain upon his back and a fine mist of blood upon his shoulders.

Within his trousers, he throbbed mercilessly, quickly, with each beat of his heart. He squirmed, fighting the urge to grab himself, to release his prick free of the confining trousers. As a fourth lash sent him sprawling onto his flat, chiseled stomach, he gyrated his hips again even as he groaned from the pain, the needful, tender organ caught between his fevered skin and fabric cooled from the stone.

“You’re praying, Sebastian.” Was there an echo in Elthina’s voice? Was it even hers? “I said to beg. Beg Andraste to save your unworthy soul.”

Could she be possessed? Could there be a desire demon looking out through her eyes?

The thought, coupled with the fifth and sixth lashes, made tension rise in Sebastian’s chest and within his groin. He was going to come, come right in front of the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall, right at the feet of a statue of Andraste herself.

What was Elthina doing to him?

Crawling forward, Sebastian clasped onto Andraste’s feet, wrapping his arms around her shapely stone ankles as another lash tore skin from his right shoulder blade. There was no holding back at this punishment and no hiding how this wound made him feel. He openly wept as he pressed her cheek against the marble toes. “I beg of you, Andaste, whose feet I am unworthy to kiss, save me. I am a wicked, horrible, terrible man. Save me from my sin and save me from myself.”

“Do you truly wish to be forgiven?” The eighth lash felt as though it sliced through skin, sinew, and muscle and lay its leather tail upon the bones themselves, even if they truly did not.

“Yes!” Heat melded with tears and sweat and blood, and the world melted away into haze. Sebastian’s entire body throbbed and shook as he pushed his hips against the floor. Pushed. Pumped.

“Lick her feet, then. Lick. You are worthy of that pittance.”

This couldn’t have been Elthina. Not the sweet, darling, compassionate, grandmotherly Elthina that held him when he wept and gave him food when he was hungry. The voice was wrong, this punishment was wrong, and this abominable blasphemy was enough to send them both straight to the Void.

Sebastian decided that he did not give a damn.

The ninth lash came just as his pink tongue found the big toe of Andraste’s right foot. Sinking his teeth into his own tongue from the surprise of it, he tasted blood. Now, he smelled blood, tasted blood, heard the sound of blood pumping in his ears, knew that the blood covered his back, and certainly, ribbons of his own flesh. The pain was beyond measure.

Dust coated his tongue as he licked over the top of the foot, leaving nothing remaining in his mouth but the filthy feeling of hundreds of years of the statue going unpolished. By the time he reached the left foot, he could not have talked if he tried; he found himself gagging for want of saliva, dizzy from the stress and loss of blood and the want, the pure need, for release.

It was all that he could do to hold on until he felt the agony of the tenth lash. Haze turned to black spots before his eyes, and he fell fully to the floor, chest heaving, stomach heaving, prick heaving with the greatest and most unrestrained orgasm that he had ever had.

~*~

“Sebastian? Are you alright?”

Sebastian blinked hard. He was sitting on an uncomfortable wooden chair that had stood for years – perhaps centuries – before the Grand Cleric’s writing table. Elthina sat at the table, pure concern written upon her tired, wrinkled face.

In disbelief, he ran a hand over his armor, which was still fastened tightly. Beneath it, he felt the soft fabric of his tunic and shirt brush against his skin.

“Um, quite well, thank you.” He knew that the words sounded like a lie even as he uttered them. He felt no pain from his back, no heat and dampness of sweat on his brow, but he certainly felt the reminder of tightness in the trousers. “I should go.”

Elthina nodded her head. “Of course. Stop at the great statue of the Maker and offer a prayer of penance. That should do well enough. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Sebastian couldn’t wait to rise from the chair, to hurry out into the Chantry proper, and to think of anything else that would rid him of the rather obvious affliction that lay just below the peaceful face of Andraste upon his belt buckle.


End file.
